Biohazard Nation
by zombiehunter12
Summary: What starts as a viral epidemic turns into a global biohazard crisis. Follow the series of tragic events through the eyes of a scared Private, a beautiful New Yorker, a mourning sniper, and an army sergeant as they fight for their lives.


Chapter 1

"Move it, get out of here now!" Private Tom Williams yelled to the crowd of screaming civilians as he ushered them past his checkpoint. Tom had never been more scared in his life. His unit had been deployed to New York City not 24 hours after reports of mass chaos and destruction came flowing in to HQ. The Private had always grown up wanting to serve his country, and when he signed up and was deployed just under two years ago, he would have never thought he'd end up where he was now. His unit had been deployed to help a mass evacuation of the city, but from the screams heard all throughout the city along with multiple pops of gunfire, it wasn't going so well.

The late afternoon sun beat down on the back of his neck as he tried his best to show people in the right direction to safety. It was early July and the heat wave was getting to him as the back of his uniform became damper and damper. His dry mouth was a result of not having a drink in the last five hours. Each breath he took felt like spikes in the back of his dry throat. The rifle in his hands was soaked at the grip from sweat. It wasn't like he was out of shape though. Tom though back a few years to his high school days of wrestling. He thought of the long hours he put into each practice and how, against much disapproval from both his parents and coach, he missed out on college and went into the military.

Tom cringed as he heard the crack gunfire nearby. The seemingly slow moving crowd coming his way suddenly turned into mass hysteria as more gunfire erupted and the moans of the shamblers drifted his way.

"Oh shit..." he breathed. His unit had an encounter with them earlier in the day. Tom didn't quite know what was wrong with the people, but they scared the hell out of him. Three of the guys in the unit were bitten as they tried getting them medical assistance. He wondered what exactly was causing their behavior. Before he could ponder the thought further, a stiff came into view.

The scared Private clutched his standard issued M16A4 in his perspiring hands as he peered through the iron sights at another one of the shamblers that appeared in the large crowd of hysterical people. It was a businessman, or once was. The shambler stumbled forward, the once expensive looking business suit was now torn in various places and had large crimson splotches around a large gash in his neck. Tom aimed his rifle at the shambler and fired off a trio of bullets into its torso. People screamed as the shambler stumbled backwards but continued its relentless pursuit. The Private took a few steps forward, the assault rifle kicking into his shoulder twice more as his finger tightened on the trigger again. Bone and blood stained the concrete of an office building behind the shambler as the rounds penetrated through its deteriorating skin. The shambler moaned in hunger as the distance between it and the soldier rapidly decreased.

"Oof!" The soldier flew back as a frantic man ran by, clutching a bleeding arm. "Shit!" His rifle slid out of reach, the shambler stepped over it and was almost on top of him. He quickly crab-walked backwards and reached down to his hip holster. Large glops of drool fell out of the shambler's drooling mouth as it cornered the Private against building. Tom's hand wrapped around the butt of the M9 Beretta and yanked it of the holster. He aimed the handgun up and fired as fast as he could pull the trigger at point-blank range, not taking the time to aim out of blind fear. The shambler's gut exploded in a shower of gore as bits and chunks of stomach and intestine flew out; yet the shambler kept coming. Just as the slide to his sidearm locked back on empty, he heard a loud crack and saw the shambler's head cock backwards as a large hole appeared in its head.

"Shoot them in the god damn head, Private!" His Sergeant yelled over the gunfire that could be heard around the temporary checkpoint. Sergeant Tyrell Keyes was the biggest badass he knew, and he was glad to be in his unit. Tom grabbed his Sergeant's hand as he was helped up.

"Y-yes sir." Tom replied finally as he carefully stepped over the bullet riddled corpse and retrieved his rifle.

"Private, regroup with the rest of the unit back at Times Square. Clear out any hostiles on the way and make sure you aim for the head." His Sergeant sighed. Tom could tell something was bothering him but he only nodded his head.

"Yes sir!" Tom abandoned his post and began jogging down the middle of the street as Sergeant Keyes went to relieve any other soldiers that were stationed in the surrounding blocks. The sidewalks were crammed with both New Yorker's and tourists alike, all wanting to get out of the city. As he was about to pass an abandoned cab he stopped. The driver's door was still open and a news reporter's voice could be heard inside, whoever abandoned the taxi had left it still running. The Private looked behind him to make sure Keyes was gone, then propped his rifle against the cab and sat in the driver's seat and lightly cranked up the volume.

"...advised you proceed to the nearest evacuation center. If you have received any wounds from the infected or know of someone infected, please contact the authorities. The virus is highly contagious. Do not engage the infected directly and-" Tom stood up and grabbed his rifle.

"Virus, huh? Keyes failed to mention that." Tom mumbled as he began jogging back to Times Square. He was just a grunt though, why would they tell him anything? As he weaved in and out of abandoned vehicles, he heard a faint scream. His head cocked to the side as he heard a woman calling out for help. His jog slowed to a halt outside of a woman's boutique. Inside he could just make out the outline of a woman pleading for help as she threw handbags and books at two shamblers that had cornered her behind the counter. Outside of the shop about half of dozen of them were pounding on the large glass windows overlooking the store. Dirty smudges and bloody hand prints caked the glass as the carriers relentlessly pounded on it in an eager attempt for another meal. Tom lifted his M16A4 and crouched down on one knee. He was quite the marksman; his father had always taken him shooting since he was in grade school.

He switched his rifle to semi-automatic and aimed at one of the stiffs in the middle of the small mob. The former policewoman was in bad shape. Her left arm was missing, completely torn off at the elbow. She pounded on the window with her remaining arm; the thumb and middle finger had been bitten off. Her back was shredded into ribbons, the Private couldn't believe she was even still standing. A scream from the trapped civilian snapped Tom out of his mesmorization. He fired twice, each shot hitting her square in the back and cracking the large display window. In unison, the six shamblers each slowly turned around to face him, the women inside forgotten.

"Aim for the head." Sergeant Keyes' words replayed through his mind as he slightly tilted the rifle up and fired again. The gunshot seemed oddly loud in the large city, it echoed throughout the block. The former cop's head snapped backwards as her skull split in two and brain matter shot out of the top. She fell to her knees, then slumped down on the pavement face-first, or what was left of it. He quickly turned the rifle towards the next closest shambler, this one seemed a bit faster then the others. Tom aimed at its head and fired, then fired again as the first round was just off, blowing off the shambler's ear. The second bullet hit home. Before the corpse could fall over he fired twice more and took out two more with perfect headshots. The remaining two moaned and reached forward as they greedily clawed at him and stumbled forward.

"Help me!" The women cried. The soldier stepped forward as he took out the remaining two stiffs and slung the rifle over his shoulder, instead opting for his sidearm for the close quarters combat he was about to have. He pushed the glass doors open with the mussel of his M9, taking a shooter's stance in the doorway.

"Get down!" He yelled to the women, she didn't object. The flashes from the handgun lit up the store, the blasts deafening in the enclosed walls. His aim was off, the hot lead shredding their backs. Tom stopped firing, he was starting to run low on ammo and only had one magazine left on backup for the sidearm and one for his rifle.  
"Steady now..." He mumbled, leveling the M9 and peering through the iron sights. His nose wrinkled as the smell of death washed over him. As the handgun leveled on one of the shambler's heads he fired. It fell backwards and died on the counter. The second carrier was almost on top of him now. Tom lowered his weapon and delivered a swift kick to its midsection. Ribs cracked as the shambler fell on its ass. Lowering the gun he quickly executed it, looking away as gore splashed against his boots. That didn't matter though, he needed to see if the women was alright. Keeping the gun clenched in both of his hands he crept forward towards the sounds of light sobbing behind the counter, his sidearm pointed slightly down.

Tom stepped over the shambler on the ground, and again the smell of death hit him. As he reached the counter he pear over it and saw a young women in the fetal position. But before he questioned her, he wanted to secure the store, not particularly wanting to be surprised.

"Wait here, I'll be right back. Ok?" Her head bobbed up and down slowly. The store he was in wasn't really that big. Besides the circular racks of expensive looking clothing, there wasn't really any shelves or areas for the enemy to be hidden, which he was grateful for. Keeping the sidearm pointed forward, he walked to the other side of the store towards the dressing rooms. The lights were cut at this part of the store, and there wasn't a switch for them in plain view.

Tom held out the handgun with his right hand as he used his left to retrieve a small flashlight from his vest. He clicked it on and held it under the gun, and what he saw wasn't pretty. A large puddle of blood was directly in front of him, it was still wet. Splotches of blood trailed off in front of it, accompanied by bloody handprints on the way and bits and pieces of flesh he couldn't identify. The line of dressing rooms curves to a sharp left. He quickly checked each room before cautiously approaching. When he rounded the corner he stopped, shocked and about to vomit. Two shamblers were devouring a store clerk. Her intestine was being ripped from her chest cavity and being shoved into the moaning mouths. The clerk was lightly moaning as her arms pathetically swatted at her attackers. He wasted no time in dispatching them, the gunfire blinding in the darkness. As the corpses slumped over he slowly approached the clerk.

The woman looked to be in her early thirties, and she was a mess. Her long blonde hair was drenched in her own blood. Her right arm had been broken and bone was sticking out. Her skirt had been ripped away and large bites could be seen on her thighs. She lifted her arm up to him, her slender hand extended. He lightly took her hand, trembling.

"Close your eyes." He whispered.

"Th...thank...y-you..." She croaked, her eyes fluttering shut. Tom clenched her hand and aimed his handgun down at her head and recited a quick prayer for her before euthanizing her.

"Rest in peace." He said as he lightly put her hand down. A million thoughts raced through his mind as he quickly marched out of the dressing room, the overall atmosphere scaring him. Was he now a murderer? He couldn't just leave her there, suffering and alone in the dark. Hell, he was surprised she was even still alive when he found her. He decided to push the thoughts aside as he went over to the counter and holstered his M9.

"I'm Private Tom Williams with the U.S. Army, I'm going to need you to come with me ma'am." He said. The young women, still huddled on the ground, stood and up wrapped her arms around him crying profusely.

"K-karen... is she..." The woman sobbed. Tom sighed and shook his head as he comforted her.

"She's gone." He said, not knowing how else to put it. "Who are you? why are you still here?" The young woman sniffed and wiped hey wet eyes.

"I'm Katharina... I work here, worked... My boss Karen wanted me to stick around with her for a little to wait until the evacuation cleared up a little to protect the store from being looted. Then those... things came!" She pointed a manicured hand at the corpse on the counter. Tom followed the hand back to her body and just realized how beautiful she was. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and had a body most men would pay for. Her large chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed in short breaths, still overcoming the attack. "Excuse me, I'm up here." She said.

"Oh- I uh..." Tom went red, caught in the act. She smiled.

"It's ok, Tom was it?" He nodded as he unslung his rifle and ejected the magazine, placing it on the counter and reaching into his vest for a fresh one. "So anyways... thank you for saving me. I probably wouldn't have made it."

"Just doing my job." He said, slapping a new magazine into the gun and slinging it back over his shoulder. Tom grabbed the magazine he place on the counter and shoved it back into his vest, it still held a few rounds. "We should get moving." As he turned to leave he stopped suddenly.

"Jesus..." He said, stopping. At least two dozen shamblers had gathered in front of the store, they must have been attracted by all the gunfire from earlier. How he didn't see or hear them earlier he had no idea.

"Oh my God! Kill them!" Katharina cried. The assault rifle in his hands suddenly seemed useless in comparison to the large crowd that had gathered outside.  
"There's too many of 'em..."


End file.
